The Night Before the Apocalypse

Here’s a little Christmas-ish poem written by two fellow Permuted Press Authors over the course of Christmas Eve:

(c) 2014 by SP Durnin and Lane Adamson

Twas the night before Christmas,
And all over the land,
The undead were walking
And the end was at hand.

The shotguns were placed
By the windows with care,
To blow the heads off
Any zombies out there.

The walkers where stalking,
The draggers were crawling,
Bloody portents of doom in the snow
They were scrawling.

To pistols and crowbars,
The people did turn,
As they fled from the dead,
Leaving cities to burn.

Then, up on the roof,
There arose such a racket
I knew in my heart
I should run, not attack it;

But this was my home,
That I’d die to defend,
So I picked up my crowbar,
And prepared for the end.

A fetid aroma
Blew in from the flue,
And I barfed on the carpet–
It couldn’t be true.

Then with moan
(and a wet, soupy sound)
From up in the chimney
“Zombie Nick” flopped right down.

He was dressed in the rags
Of a red velvet suit,
But his claws were ungloved
As he began his pursuit.

I glanced at the window
And swarming outside
Were eight undead reindeer
Who wanted inside.

There was Drooler and Dead(er),
Putrid and Viral,
Cannibal and Just Nasty,
Wet Rot and Death Spiral.

I scurried over the couch
Trying just not to fall,
Then tripped Dead Nick’s dead ass
And took off down the hall.

He shuffled behind me
With Joe Cocker grace,
‘Til I turned with my crowbar
And took off his face.

But I heard him exclaim
Through his tool-tattered lips,
“Merry Christmas, survivor–
And enjoy the Apocalypse!”